With One Foot on the Ground
by Skye007lex
Summary: A mishap, a new identity, and the love for a condemned man threaten to upturn Hermione’s world. Can she keep her feet safely on the ground as everything spirals out of control? Or will the consequences of a journey be too much to bear? SS/HG
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing… sadly.

**A/N:** This is my very first SS/HG story. I've finally found the courage to write about my favorite couple and I hope you all enjoy. The rating, I promise, is for later chapters. Some spoilers regarding Deathly Hallows…BUT its ending will be rectified.

* * *

**With One Foot on the Ground **

**Chapter One **

_"Better never to have met you in my dream than to wake and reach for hands that are not there."_

All was quiet and still as Brindle, senior house elf of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, materialized into the empty Transfiguration office. Her tennis ball sized eyes peeked out from underneath the large mahogany desk centered in the room, double checking its vacancy. Timidly stepping away from the desk, she surveyed the damage the previous occupants had moments ago inflicted.

The large stain glass window, adjacent to the desk, had a bludger size hole right through Godric Gryffindor's head. Parchment, quills, and text books were strewn about the floor, quite disrespectfully. Worst was the wall of bookshelves, broken and in pieces, its contents in ruins on the ground.

Just as Brindle raised her slender fingers to snap away the sea of disaster, a sudden noise sent her into alert. She spun quickly and watched a young woman, dark and beautiful, suddenly materialize. Sagging against the wall that had once been shelving, her breath came in gasps. As a curtain of long elegant black hair fell over her features, she slumped forward and fell towards the debris strewn ground.

With a tiny squeak, Brindle vanished. Hoping she had not disturbed the human.

Crumbling to her knees with a choked sob, the woman clawed for solid ground. Her Time-Turner shattered, the glass from its hour glass stinging her palms and knees. Oblivious to her tattered flesh, she felt only the heavy repercussions of her journey.

"What have I done?" she wept against the cold castle floor.

With a blood stained hand, she reached for the onyx amulet resting around her neck and harshly tore it off. Its spell broken, her features transformed into her own. Black waves changed to brown unruly curls, and ivory skin returned to a freckled nose and rose cheeks. The talisman shattered against the wall beside her, with an angry thrust of her wrist.

"He's gone," she whimpered, her breath warming the cold stone she lay against. Shifting to her side, Hermione pulled her knees to her chest and cried fiercely.

* * *

"Oi! Hermione," Ron called with a mouthful of Cockroach Clusters, holding a stack of red journals. "Where do you want these detention records?"

"On the desk please," she replied before lifting her eyes from the log of past Transfiguration students, where she was currently sorting them into organized stacks. "Once you've cleaned them of course!" Hermione added with a horrified expression.

"Huh?" Ron raised a brow.

"Your hands are filthy, Ronald! I will not have chocolate remnants staining my records." Her tone was sharp and she sat up straighter in her chair.

"Blimey, Hermione," Ron scoffed before casting a quick _Tergeo_. "Not even your first day of classes and you already sound like McGonagall."

"Headmistress McGonagall," she countered, pulling her quill from behind her ear to scribble a quick note on the parchment before her.

"I'm just glad I'll never have to experience you as a Professor."

"Well that's encouraging, Ron!" she snapped, slamming her quill down on the desk. "I'm already nervous!"

"You're going to be a great Professor, Hermione," Harry spoke up, stepping away from the bookshelf he had just agonizingly alphabetized. "Ron's just frustrated and being a prat because the Chudley Cannons denied him."

"Reserve team again?" Hermione asked in disbelief. "I'm sorry, Ron. I know how much you wanted to be a starter this season."

"Oliver Wood was a Puddlemere United reserve," Harry stated. "You've got to start somewhere, Ron."

"Oliver Wood was a reserve his first year out of Hogwarts and is currently starting for the Magpies," Ron scoffed. "I've been out of Hogwarts for over four years and can't catch a break!"

"Maybe try for another team?" Hermione suggested, but received a warning look from Harry a second before Ron burst.

"Not play for the Cannons! Are you bonkers, woman?" He asked flabbergasted. "That…that's blasphemy!"

"I'm sorry!" she quickly replied. "I was just trying to be realistic." Ron crossed his arms on his chest and turned away, mumbling incoherently. Hermione rolled her eyes in reply.

"So how much more do you have to go through," Harry gestured to the office in a hope to change the subject.

"Well," Hermione began, giving him a thankful look. "The Headmistress was quite thorough in her recording abilities while she was the Transfiguration professor. So, it has taken me some time to get through the students records and to organize them to my own standards. I should be finished with that this week and then I'd like to go over the past syllabus and curriculum guides before writing my own. Finally, I still need to finish setting up my new quarters and to send the rest of Minerva's things to her quarters."

"So, we won't be seeing you much this summer holiday?" Harry teased with a shake of his head.

"I promise not to turn into a hermit!" she replied with a laugh. "I just want to make sure everything is done before the Sorting Feast."

"Well, what else can we do to lighten the work load?" Harry asked, taking a look around the office.

"How about lunch?" she replied with a grin, pushing her chair back and stretching her arms above her head. "I'm starving and could use a break."

"Aye!" Ron agreed with a pat to his stomach. "I'm almost on empty."

"Shocking," Harry laughed.

"Fancy a trip to The Three Broomsticks? I could really go for Rosmerta's black pudding." Ron said, ignoring Harry's cheek.

"Let me just put away these papers." Hermione turned back to her desk. With a swish and flick she sent the parchments flying into the new file cabinets beside the connecting classroom door. Of course these weren't your ordinary file cabinets. Unlike the ones in her parent's office, each drawer of Hermione's cabinet had an endless quantity of free space. She would be able to fit all of her records, notes, student logs, and enough spare parchment to last her lifetime.

Ah, the wonders of magic.

Giving one last satisfied look at her tidy office, she turned to find the boys hunched over a small case. Curious, she walked to them and peered over their shoulders. "What is it?" she asked, wobbling on her tip-toes. "What did you find?"

"Its Hamish MacFarlan's 1964 Bludger," they spoke in unison, with a look of awe.

"Oh bother," Hermione sighed, stepping away and rolling her eyes. "Is everyone Quidditch obsessed?"

"Hermione," Ron turned and gave her look of disbelief. "This is a priceless artifact."

"Artifact?" she laughed, crossing her arms and glancing at the case once more. "It's a dirty ball."

Ron squeaked and stuttered incoherently, truly at a loss of words.

"It's from one of the most famous games in Quidditch history, Hermione." Harry looked away only to try and reason with her. "MacFarlan is in the Hall of Fame because of that game." Turning back to the case, he wondered aloud, "How did McGonagall get this?"

"Headmistress McGonagall," she corrected.

"She must have paid a fortune for it," Harry went on.

"I have to touch it," Ron groaned before reaching for the clasp of the glass case.

"I thought we were going to lunch?" Hermione reminded them, before she was shushed by the two as Ron gingerly raised the bludger. Cradling it as if it were a child, Ron looked toward them with an expression of pure delight.

"Isn't it beautiful?" he cooed.

"Aye," Harry murmured his agreement. "That's got to bring you good luck this season, Ron!" he added quickly, causing the other boy to quickly perk up.

"You think so, Harry?"

"Of course!"

"Perhaps you should put that back, Ron. It's the Headmistress'," Hermione spoke up. "I can't afford to have her on my bad side if you damage it."

"Damage it?" Ron exclaimed. "Hermione, it's a bludger and more likely to damage **YOU**. Besides, the case was unlocked."

"Whatever the circumstance," she retorted, hands firmly on her hips. "It's not yours, so please put it back before—" her response cut off as the bludger gave a sudden jerk and shot out of Ron's arms.

Hermione ducked quickly as said bludger whizzed by close enough to breeze her hair. Watching in horror, she grimaced as it tore through her office with vengeance.

Ricocheting off the stone walls and heavy antique furniture, it left holes and dents on its journey. The shelves of textbooks and journals Harry had just organized collapsed to the ground as the bludger smashed through the supports. Paintings crashed to the flooring, their occupants screaming and running out of the frames, seeking shelter. Ink wells and quills spilled to the ground, staining the golden carpet and stone floor.

Ron and Harry peeked out from underneath her desk just in time to witness it plow into the side of Hermione's file cabinet, destroying the enclosed parchment.

"Ron!" Hermione hollered. "Stop it!" she glared at him from behind her chair before lurching backward as the soaring demon flew past. Staring in horror, she watched it head towards a shelf of McGonagall's valuables.

Leaping forward, she caught as many falling trinkets and fragile items her arms could hold, before a large _crack_ sounded above her. Alerted to the collapsing shelf, she dived backwards. Glass shattered around her as debris fell.

Ron and Harry, in the mist of shooting stunning spells from their wands, looked to Hermione with worry. They ducked hastily and the bludger broke through the stain glass window behind them, disappearing out of sight.

"Hermione, are you ok?" Harry asked, slipping on parchment and the sound of glass crunching accompanying his steps as he rushed over.

"I think so," she replied, kneeled in a pile of books and broken knick-knacks. Rubbing the quickly forming bump on the back of her head, she frowned finding something tangled in her mass of curls.

"Well," Ron started, surveying the ruined office. "That was…"

"Idiotic!" Hermione finished for him, wobbly standing up. "That could have killed someone!" she barked still trying to untangle the item knotted in her hair.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled weakly.

"Look at this mess, Ronald Weasley!"

"Hermione…"

"I said I was sorry!" Ron shouted back, embarrassed.

"Sorry isn't good enough," she growled. "You've destroyed everything!"

"Hermione…"

"Not everything," Ron protested ignoring Harry's worried expression. "The desk is still standing."

"Ronald! Don't you dare mock me!"

"Then don't talk to me like I'm a bloody first year!"

"Don't act like one!"

"Hermione!" Harry finally shouted over the quarrel, getting her attention.

"What?" she stomped her foot and turned to him.

"In your hair!" he pointed with eyes wide.

"I know," she huffed. "I'm all tangled—"

"It's activated!" Harry shouted.

"What's activated?" she asked as a heavy lump was freed from her curls, landing around her neck. At the familiar sound, she looked down at her chest in horror.

"It's a Time-turner!"

"No!" she gasped as the hour glass spun uncontrollably in a blur of movement, sand spitting from the glass. Cracked and sputtering, it wheezed and coughed to a sudden stop…and Hermione Granger vanished.

The two remaining occupants of the room shared expressions of pure terror before they turned and raced towards the Headmistress' office.


	2. Chapter 2

**With One Foot on the Ground **

**Chapter Two**

Hermione clenched her eyes tightly shut and held firmly to the Time-turner. Her office blurred with movement and her ears buzzed with the chaos. Objects moving too quickly to be distinguished hovered like a heavy fog, as time reversed haphazardly. A knot began to churn in her belly as Hermione realized she had never traveled this quickly or for this long during her experiences in her third year. Millions of thoughts darkened her mind, passing time even slower.

The Time-turner was obviously defective or damaged. Hot tears burned through her closed eyes and her shoulders began to tremble with worry. She had noticed the leaking sand and had quickly clasped her hands around it before she'd disappeared.

But could it be fixed?

How would she return if it could not?

Breathing deep to keep her nausea at bay, Hermione chanced opening one eye. Through her billowing curls she could still see the basic structure of the office as time slowed. With a sigh of relief, her eyes opened completely, everything coming to a standstill.

Alone in the room, she glanced about and recognized many of Minerva's possessions. The window sill was still cluttered with photographs and stacks of leather bound books. The file cabinet Hermione had installed was gone and in its place a tartan plaid cat bed and a hanging ball of catnip. The red and gold rug, in front of the desk, showed less ware and much more vibrancy.

All signs of the bludger damage non existent. In fact, when she turned, Hermione spotted the horrid ball resting innocently in the case Ron would one day release it from. Walking toward it, she glared down at the brown ball with venom. "You're a miserable little bludger," she growled quietly. "And Quidditch is a stupid, **stupid**, miserable sport."

Feeling slightly better, having given the ball a piece of her mind, she walked around the room trying to distinguish the year she had traveled to. This proved to be quite difficult. The parchments lying on Minerva's desk held no dates and Hermione felt it would be too disrespectful to search through the drawers.

A glimmer of gold caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. Turning to the source, Hermione spotted the illustrious Qudditch Cup sitting proudly on a small table just past the stain glass windows. A Gryffindor banner hung on the wall above it and was charmed to cheer and sing when you stepped before the Cup.

As Hermione moved forward, the banner sung proudly on the subject of Gryffindor winning the cup for the third year in a row. From this, Hermione determined she had at least traveled to the year 1984. The pages of _Hogwarts: A History_ had taught her that before her second year in '92, Gryffindor had not won the Cup since then. But nothing could keep a noise from escaping her when she finally peered down and read the date printed on the Cup.

"1978!" she gasped, nearly dropping the broken Time-turner to the floor. "I've traveled 25 years!" Realizing it would still be two years before her parents even conceived her, Hermione felt a fresh wave of dizziness. Stumbling away, the banner became silent as she fell into one of the chairs in front of Minerva's desk. Staring out into nothing, she began worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. The full magnitude of her situation sinking in.

Harry's parents were still alive and most likely still students. Voldemort not even a threat to them yet, it still being a few years until Harry would be orphaned. Lupin, Sirius, Fred, Tonks, Alastor, and countless others, who had lost their lives in the war, were all…still… alive.

Still alive.

Could she save them?

Warn anyone?

"No," she told herself, lowering her head with misery. She could not meddle with time. The consequences would be too great. But when the images of Albus Dumbledore and Professor Snape filtered into her thoughts, she held back tears of injustice. They both gave so much. Fighting and spying for decades, only to be taken just before the end of it all.

Saving them would be worth the risk.

But who was she to play God? How could she ever look Harry or any of the Weasley's in the eyes again with being so unfair…so selective?

No. She mustn't change a thing.

Voices behind her sent Hermione into alert and she braced herself. Turning in the small chair she watched the door to Minerva's office open with a worn creak.

"Horace is vexing, Albus," Minerva was saying as she entered the room ahead of the older wizard. "He is a mere two years from retirement and demanding an extended holiday. Its bloody two weeks till the start of term! Who will we find to take his place in such short—," her rant cut short spotting the woman sitting before her desk.

Hermione sighed with relief when neither raised their wands at her.

"Who are…" Minerva began, surprise and shock painting her features. "How did you get past my wards?"

"I…" Hermione paused unsure of herself. Standing from the chair, she held out her hands so they could easily see the broken hourglass and chain dangling along her wrists. "There was an accident."

Their eyes grew wide at the sight of the Time-turner. Minerva stepped forward with a hand on her chest, while Albus softly closed the door and placed a silencing charm on the room.

"Oh my," Minerva gasped as she stared down at the necklace.

"Were you injured?" Albus asked with a kind gaze, noticing Hermione's damp cheeks and reddened eyes.

"No sir," she replied. "But the Time-turner…" she added, looking down at her full hands, unable to look at her fallen Headmaster long.

"Here," Minerva spoke as she shifted some parchments on her desk. "You can put that down here." Hermione did as she was told and grimaced as sand and glass spilled in a small mound underneath it.

"First things first," Albus smiled down at her. "Your name Miss?"

She looked at him with worry. "Is it ok to tell you that?"

"As long as it stays between us three, I think it will be just fine."

"Hermione Granger," she replied a little stronger, wiping the wetness away from her eyes. Standing up straighter, she tried to look the part of a brave 23 year old and not the terrified first year she suddenly felt like. "Former Hogwarts Head Girl and Gryffindor," this earned softer expression from Minerva. "And currently…" her statement caught in her throat. They could not know she was taking over Minerva's classes, because Minerva herself was the new Headmistress.

"…And currently Professor McGonagall's apprentice." They smiled warmly at her with acceptance.

"Ah, one of your cubs," Albus teased the older woman. "And she must be a special one. After your semester with Ms. Clayton, you swore to never take an apprentice again."

"Ms. Clayton could barely Transfigure past the sixth year level! I don't know how she managed those N.E.W.T scores," she huffed before turning back to Hermione. "How did your accent happen, dear?"

"I was…" she paused, taking a moment to organize her story. "…studying your past curriculum, and student logs here in your office. There were some boys outside playing a small game of Quidditch and a rouge bludger broke through the window." Her ruffled clothes and disheveled curls helped confirm her story. "Before I could stun it, a shelf fell and the broken Time-turner tangled in my hair. I didn't realize what it was, until it was already too late."

"Well I'm glad you were uninjured," Minerva sighed.

"Can it be fixed?" she asked them.

"I will surely try, but it shall be hard without the Ministry detecting." Minerva peered down at the object through her spectacles for a moment. "Time travel is strictly forbidden without the Ministry's prior consent."

"Yes, I remember," Hermione agreed with a nod of her head, gazing down at the pile of gold ruble and dust. "In my third year I was granted one in order to take additional courses."

"Additional courses?" Minerva grinned, straightening up. "You must have broken Ravenclaw's record!" she beamed, her competitiveness flashing like a neon sign.

"Sadly no," Hermione responded. "I refused to take Divination. Utter rubbish," she mumbled loud enough for Minerva to hear and then nod her head in agreement.

"Back to the subject at hand, Minerva," Albus interjected with a grin before she could reply. "It would be straight to Azkaban, Ms. Granger, if the Ministry discovered you."

"Azkaban?" she whimpered, falling back into the chair at her side. "What am I to do?"

"We will keep you safe," Minerva reassured, coming to stand beside her cub and placing a supportive hand on her shoulder. "Won't we, Albus?"

"Oh course, my dear!" he smiled, taking the chair beside Hermione. Reaching inside his robes, Albus pulled out a small bag of Bertie Botts and frowned as he bit into a sardine flavored bean. When he offered the bag to the two women, each shook their heads profusely in decline.

"Hermione can stay on as my aid and apprentice," Minerva stated. "She already has the necessary skills to substantiate that story and a simple charm to modify her appearance will save future chaos."

"Wonderful idea, Minerva," Albus agreed. "But perhaps…" he drifted off and with twinkling gaze he turned to Hermione. "How were you in your Potion classes, Hermione?"

"I received straight O's in all of my courses, Sir," she answered honestly. "At University I was trained in Transfiguration, but I also continued with Potions as well. Actually, before Professor McGonagall had approached me to teach, I was strongly researching a career field that could incorporate the two."

"Wonderful, my dear," he clapped his hands with a smile. "We are currently one Potions Professor short. Horace Slughorn is in need of a short sabbatical and would certainly be much obliged."

"I was looking forward to working with you in our subject," Minerva spoke crestfallen. "But this would help the staff greatly. Potions Professors are very hard to come by. Anyone agreeable and competent in the subject is usually snatched up directly out of University by all the major labs."

"Would that be…wise? Considering my situation," she questioned, images of Azkaban haunting her.

"In plain sight, what better place to hide you?" Albus twinkled before standing. "Now, I shall tell the rest of the staff of Horace's sabbatical and inform them of his stand-in. On loan from the University, we'll say…and on your final phase of training. They will not question a thing.

"But…perhaps a back-story will be helpful?" he thought aloud with a scratch of his beard. "Minerva," he turned to address his friend, "how would you care for a niece?"


	3. Chapter 3

**With One Foot on the Ground **

**Chapter Three**

Entering her personal quarters, Minerva found Hermione seated before her forgotten plate of dinner and starring out through the darkened windows. Her hands clasped tightly in her lap, knuckles white with the pressure, she sat stiffly and worried her bottom lip roughly with her teeth.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Minerva asked softly.

"Oh!" she jump in response and turned to the older woman. "I'm sorry. I didn't hear you enter. How did the staff meeting go?" Hermione asked nervously. "Did everyone believe?"

"Of course they did, child! Albus could convince a lamb to walk into the wolf's den," she laughed, taking a seat beside her at the table. "Never play poker with the man though," she added as a warning. "Your galleons will be gone before you can shout Quidditch!"

"The staff trusts I am your niece as well?"

"To all of the Hogwarts staff you are now my brother Gregor's youngest and brightest daughter, Hannah. Gregor and I have never been close," Minerva admitted softly, a sadness dulling the warmth of her eyes. "So, it was not difficult for the staff to understand why I had never mentioned you before."

At the mention of her brother, Hermione recognized remorse in Minerva's features. She dared not ask about the family feud, but worried silently. Her mentor had thrown all her energy into Hogwarts and supporting Albus. She taught and protected her students fiercely and affectionately. But Hermione wondered if her cubs and the staff were the only family she truly had.

Leaning across the table, Hermione took one of Minerva's hands into her own. Giving her a soft smile, she voiced her gratitude, "Thank you for everything, Professor McGonagall. I'd be barking mad by now if it weren't for your support."

"That's Aunt Minerva to you now," she smiled in return, giving her hand a soft pat as the warmth began to return to her gaze. "You're a very sweet girl, Hermione. I promise I won't let any harm come to you."

Hermione responded by leaning forward to wrap her arms around Minerva in a warm hug of appreciation. "Thank you."

"You're most welcome," came her reply before she leaned back and smiled at the younger woman.

"When do they think I am arriving?" Hermione asked, settling back into her own chair.

"Tomorrow actually," Minerva replied. "Term starts in two weeks and you'll have little time to adjust to your new position. Albus and I felt it necessary to get you settled in as quickly as possible."

"It will be nice to see familiar faces," Hermione spoke thinking of Filius, Pomona, Rolanda, and of course Hagrid. "The staff has always been kind."

"Yes," Minerva smiled, agreeing with her. "We do have a good bunch don't we."

"Will I be sharing your rooms?"

"For this week you shall," the older woman replied. "To help with appearances. The staff will believe we are simply relatives enjoying ones company and catching up, but it will give us ample time to rehearse and prepare your back story. Of course, you'll also want to get accustomed to your new classrooms and the syllabus."

"Yes, I'm quite excited about my chance to teach Potions. Will Professor Slughorn be showing me the class room tomorrow?" She was quite eager to see the classroom again. Hermione truly enjoyed potions and the anticipation of getting to teach it was helping to ease her anxiety.

"Yes, Horace wishes to leave immediately. I'm afraid he might scuttle you down to the dungeons the moment you set foot in the castle." Hermione laughed in response, not doubting her words. "Albus has arranged it so we can floo into Hogs Head early tomorrow morning. We can get a bite of breakfast and get you new robes and supplies. Then we'll apparate to the gates of Hogwarts just before lunch and the staff will think you have just arrived."

"Minerva, I don't feel comfortable using your money for myself," Hermione admitted with a frown.

"Hermione," Minerva smiled. "You are now a paid staff member."

"Oh," she blushed with embarrassment, "Of course."

"But don't think for a moment that I wouldn't have emptied my Griggnots account for you if that wasn't the case," she smiled warmly at Hermione. "Now come with me and we'll get you your disguise."

"You mentioned a charm this morning," Hermione remarked with interest as she followed Minerva into her tidy bedroom. "I can manage transfiguration spells for long periods, but I fear that I won't be able to hold them up for an entire day of classes. Certainly not for consecutive days without diminishing my strength and magic."

"That is why we shall use this," Minerva replied, pulling out a small gold necklace from a decorative box atop her dresser. Dangling it in one hand, with the other she began to work elaborate spells with her wand. "This amulet was created to harvest magic. Whether a simple pepper up, a language translator, or beauty spells; it will assist the carrier as long as it is worn."

The amulet's core was an oval shaped onyx, a black gem that denoted good fortune and strength. Gold strings were woven around it, braiding it in a sort of cocoon and incasing the assigned magic. It was quite striking and Hermione watched with eagerness as the last spell shot from Minerva's wand with a spark of yellow.

"You must wear this at all time from this moment on," Minerva instructed, moving to stand behind Hermione. "We cannot afford any accidents. Aside from your appearance, I also placed a charm that prevents Albus and myself from calling you Hermione instead of Hannah."

Holding her hair up, Hermione felt a wave of warmth when the stone touched her chest as Minerva fastened it. A tingling sensation started at her toes before swiftly spreading higher. It felt as if warm hands were kneading and massaging her flesh, magically changing her form. She flushed with embarrassment as the feeling swept over her lower belly and moved towards her breast.

'_I need to get out more.'_

Her head lulled back, warmth caressing first her shoulders, then her neck and scalp. As it passed through her curls, she could literally feel them relax and extend softly. Finally, the sensation fluttered to her eyelashes and to the tips of her fingers before it settled. The amulet glowed with power, her transformation complete.

"That one part makes you feel like a randy fifth year, does it not?" Minerva smirked as she moved to stand in front of Hermione.

"Quite right," Hermione blushed with a laugh. Her eyes opened with shock at the voice she now spoke. Gone was her British accent, in its place a soft Scottish one with the smallest hint of French. "Beauxbatons?"

"Of course," Minerva replied. "Born and raised in Scotland where the family home is, but Gregor would have sent you to the French Academy due to my position here at Hogwarts."

"Well, then I'm quite happy mum made me study French."

"No matter, dear," Minerva replied, pulling her towards the full length mirror in the corner. "The amulet will help you with that."

When her new image reflected across the glass surface, Hermione was speechless. Her soft freckles and the sparse tan she had worked on with Ginny last week had vanished. Her skin was a flawless ivory and much paler than she was accustomed to. Her curves had lessened slightly and she now had the waist she had always dream for.

About to burst with anticipation, Hermione slowly moved her gaze up the glass towards her new face. When dark brown eyes, framed in glorious long lashes, starred back Hermione watched them widen with her sentiment.

'_Minerva can really work her wand.'_

A grin appeared on the beauty framed in the mirror, and Hermione slowly adjusted to her new appearance. Twirling side to side she was amazed as her black and wavy hair swayed with her movement, tickling the backs of her arms. When her fingers could flutter through the dark waves instead of getting tangled, and she grinned in response.

"Minerva, you're amazing!"

"I know," she kid, but her beaming smile was unable to mask her satisfaction at Hermione's compliment. Moving to stand behind the younger woman, she fluffed her dark hair as they admired her handy work.

"I have your eyes," Hermione glanced between the set of dark gazes with a smile.

"And my hair at twenty," Minerva added. "Though, I might have gone a little overboard. You are looking quite like a young Ava Gardner."

"I see nothing wrong with that," Hermione laughed.

* * *

The air smelled distinctively like autumn as Hermione walked the cobblestone paths of Hogsmead. The town was quiet and calm without the mob of Hogwarts students spilling into the streets. London was where Hermione was sure they were at the present moment. Buying their school supplies, ordering new robes, and catching up with the housemates they ran into at the shops.

Oh, how Hermione loved that time of year! The end of summer and the anticipation of the upcoming school term was her version of cloud nine.

A sigh of remembrance escaped her as she thought back to her school days with a smile and entered the next shop on her list. Hogsmead's modest bookshop was exactly as she remembered it and she slowly walked the rows of books with familiarity. This felt normal to her.

No broken time-turners, lies to colleges, or fear of what her future held. No, she felt common and safe at this moment. Walking the well known isles, the stress of the last week slowly left her.

Meeting the rest of the staff and worrying about her disguise as Minerva's niece had only been the cause of half of her elevated anxiety. The rest came the moment she had stepped foot into Professor Slughorn's classroom and office.

To say the man was unorganized would be a vast understatement. Hermione could safely say that Horace Slughorn's vocabulary and lifestyle didn't actually include words such as organize, tidy, records, or stocked and alphabetized storerooms. No. The man was a complete and utter slob!

Pausing in her steps, Hermione shook her head of her current thoughts. She was in town today on a well deserved break and refused to think of the classroom that still needed to be dealt with. She took two…three calming breaths and let the aroma of leather binding and aged ink wash away her negative thoughts.

When she looked up to identify which isle she had wandered into, she caught two men watching her from the back of the row. They exchanged low whispers and eager glances and grins in her direction. Uncomfortable by the sudden attention, she quickly turned as they began to walk towards her.

Hermione quickly disappeared through the maze of book shelves, somewhat aggravated with her disguise. It reminded her of the attention she received the night of the Yule Ball in her forth year. Flattering at first but only frustrating in the end.

Spotting the aged wooden sign marked _Potions_, Hermione's pace quickened. _'That's right boys,'_ she thought to herself. _'I'm a woman with a brain. Be afraid. Be very afraid.'_

Confident the two leering men would think twice about approaching her now, she eagerly browsed the Potions titles. Letting her fingers brush the soft binding as her eyes wandered, a cloud of calmness settling over her. The shelves were stocked to perfection and she excitedly searched for the perfect new read.

"Cornelius Gershon Grant's Modern Mechanics of Potions!" She all but jumped with excitement. "How is this not sold out?" Hermione mumbled to herself. After Grant's essay on explosive water plants and toxic tea leafs was tragically proven accurate with his lab explosion in 1979, all his written work had flown off the shelves. Their price tags and value skyrocketing.

Suddenly, she realized that it was still a year until the potions genius would meet his tragic end. Hugging the book to her chest, she groaned inwardly realizing how much it would be worth in her future time.

Minutes later Hermione had a copy of almost every written work by Cornelius Gershon Grant, two of them first editions, stacked neatly at her feet. Unsatisfied, she stood on her toes to reach the last. She silently cursed her flats and Minerva for not giving her a bit more height because her fingers barely grazed the bottom of the thick volume. With one foot on the ground and stretching upward, Hermione actually started to consider mounting the shelves to reach the hardback.

"Allow me," a low silky voice spoke from behind her. Hermione watched a long arm reach above her and effortlessly pluck the book from its shelf.

Hermione inwardly celebrated once she noticed that this young man was not one of the two she had minutes ago been escaping from. "Thank you," she said softly and with a gentle smile.

He replied with a polite nod, dark hair falling over his eyes almost shyly. Holding the book out to her, his eyes widened briefly as he became aware of the pile already collected at her feet.

"I…I like to read," she blushed under his gaze.

"I see," he replied quietly, the smallest hint of a grin curling a corner of his mouth. Hermione lowered her eyes from his own and noticed he still held the book out to her. Reaching for it, her fingers grazed his as she took it. The electric spark that bounced between their digits made her eyes widen and the book fall from her hands.

She looked at him in surprise before realizing how foolish she must appear and quickly bent to retrieve the book. Not seeing that he had just moved to do the same thing, their heads collided with a rather painful _thump_.

"Sorry," she mumbled, rubbing the soreness on her forehead. His hand mirrored hers and he starred at her with a quiet and thoughtful expression. She ducked down quickly and gathered the book in her arms, absolutely embarrassed.

'_Get a hold of yourself Hermione,' _she scolded. '_You're acting like a blushing second year!'_ She stood slowly, only a bit more composed.

"I am very sorry," she offered him a friendly smile. "I must have left my senses back in the Charms isle." Hermione laughed softly and calmed a bit as he continued their teasing banter.

"Ah," he smiled. "I believe we have some on sale in the next row."

Her soft girlish laugh echoed around them and she hugged the book closely, her hands unconsciously lingering where his hand been. "I'll have to look into that."

Looking closer at the books stacked beside her, he commented, "You seem to be a great devotee of Mr. Grant's written work. To my knowledge he doesn't truly have a following."

"I believe his work to be greatly underappreciated." Unable to give any proof of future events away, Hermione was careful with all her words. "His paper _Theoretical Poisons and Potions Cures_ alone held many educated and modern specifics. He is only so ridiculed because the stubborn experts of the field refuse to be swayed by contemporary science. Its ridiculous," she left out a frustrated huff and realized she had almost gone on one of her tirades.

Ron and Harry had always warned her of her sudden outbursts and their tendency to make an interested fellow run in the opposite direction. With guarded eyes she waited for a reply… or signs of a quick exit strategy.

"No," his deep voice lulling her into a fog, "I quite agree."

Hermione beamed at him, "Really?"

"Yes," he reassured her. "And you're the first person I've meet that has shared my views. It's quite…refreshing." Her cheeks burned under his intensity, and she looked downward in hopes of hiding her coloring. She missed his eyebrow's elegant arch, but saw his feet take a step forward. Not close enough to be deemed ungentlemanly, but enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck rise with excitement.

"Is the boy bothering you Miss?" a haughty male voice suddenly spoke from behind them. Her head snapped up and she watched the "boy" in question darken, his demeanor changing swiftly. When Hermione turned, she found the two leering men from before standing at the entrance of the isle and glaring at the male beside her.

"No, of course not—"

"Boy," the blonder and bolder of the two interrupted Hermione's reply and stepped closer. "Why don't you get back to stocking the shelves and leave the lady to browse in peace." Hermione glowered at the man's rudeness and only then noticed the green apron the young man wore, declaring his employee position at the shop.

"How dare you—"

"Did you hear me boy?" the blonde interrupted again. Hermione seethed. "Take your garbage literate," he pulled her book from her hands and shoved in into the young man's chest, "And scram."

"You rude and arrogant pig!" Hermione fumed, finally having had enough of the blonde's conduct. "How dare you treat us in such a manor!" She pulled her book out from the young man's clenched fists and thumped it into the blonde's stomach. The _umph _that escaped his lips as he bent forward in pain was quite satisfying.

"Hey lady—"

Hermione raised her heated gaze to the blonde's friend, efficiently silencing him, and turned back to the blonde. "This polite _gentleman_," she emphasized, disregarding his use of the term boy. "Was kindly assisting me with a book that I have _every_ intention of purchasing. Is it beyond your intelligence that women can actually read? And that they do so willingly?"

With his lack of a reply, Hermione raised the book with a warning.

"Lady, I didn't mean to upset you," the blonde quickly spit out, embarrassment staining his cheeks.

"You owe us an apology, I think," she replied and lowered the book…but only a fraction.

"I'm sorry miss," he replied looking worriedly at the heavy tomb she held.

"And?" Hermione looked at him expectantly. The blank stare that was returned forced her to motion towards the body beside her. "I said you owe **us** an apology."

The man glared in return, but slowly turned to face the young man. He mumbled a quick apology before he and his friend rushed from the isle and out of the shop. An awkward air left in their quick exit.

"Well…" Hermione didn't know what to say. She was still quite enraged by the predicament and didn't want any of that evident her voice. The curious stare the young man regarded her with was unsettling.

"They were prats," she finally spoke. "…and I am sorry for how they treated you." He only gave a quick nod in response. Their earlier ease almost nonexistent and she was frustrated that she was now unable to read his guarded expression. "Please permit me to make amends?"

"No need, miss," he replied, hair once again falling over his features. "I must get back to work."

"Please wait," she called out as he turned to leave. "You've been very kind and I…" '_You've been very kind and I've suddenly lost my nerve,'_ she sighed inwardly.

"Yes?" he questioned when she was unable to finish her statement.

"Do you get a lunch break? We could go somewhere for a—"

"That is not necessary," he replied, cutting her off.

"Perhaps when you get off work then?" Hermione asked eagerly, wondering where her sudden bravado was coming from.

"You don't have to," he responded softly, unsure of himself or perhaps her attention.

"But I'd like too," she smiled. "You're the first person I've met that doesn't have graying hair or a receding hair line, since I arrived." Joking with him came quite easily and Hermione hoped he would accept her offer. It would be nice to have a few friends, _or something more_, while she was trapped here.

"You've just moved to these parts?" he asked, interest read easily in his black eyes. "I could show you around perhaps?"

"I'd like that," Hermione smiled her response, a flutter of some unknown emotion in her belly. "I'd like that very much. My name is Hannah by the way." She extended her hand and watched with excitement as he raised his own towards her.

"I'm Se—"

"Hannah!" She jumped with surprise and turned to see Minerva rounding the corner. "There you are," she explained with a dramatic sigh. "I've been looking for you for ages. What are you doing back here talking to yourself?"

"Myself? No, I was just…" the words died on her lips when she turned back and realized the young man had snuck off. "Damn," she mumbled to herself, an emptiness replacing the flutter in her belly.

"Child, you do realize Hogwarts has a library," Minerva stated sarcastically as she eyed the books at young woman's feet.

Hermione couldn't help but laugh in response as she turned to face her mentor. "And I exhausted those resources back in my fourth year," she teased back. Minerva smiled and with a mumbled _'I don't doubt it'_, she bent to carry some of the books.

"Well, this is my work out for the day," she huffed and started off towards the front of the shop, only half of Hermione's selection in her arms. Smiling at the older woman, she bent to retrieve the rest of her selection.

Slowly making her way to the front of the store, Hermione glanced down every isle in search of her mystery man. Unsuccessful, she schooled her features and hid all signs of disappointment as she approached Minerva.

"Ah, here she is," Minerva was saying to the stout shop owner behind the counter. "Fitz, this is my niece Hannah."

"Lovely to meet you," the older man greeted with a warm smile. "I'm already glad to have your business," he teased with one look at the size of her purchase.

"You have a wonderful store," Hermione spoke and smiled in return.

"I trust you found everything alright?"

"Actually, a young man helped me," she responded, hoping to at least get a name out of Fitz.

"That's good," he smiled and began to ring her sale. "We pride ourselves on our customer service."

Hermione almost stomped her foot with frustration. "If he works under commission, will you see that he receives it from my purchase?" she added, a blush staining her pale cheeks.

"Of course miss!"

"Hannah is our newest Potions Professor," Minerva beamed, sounding like a proud mother.

"You don't say! Congratulations!"

"Thank you, but it's not permanent. I'm actually on break from University."

"She was kind enough to fill in for Slughorn," Minerva added and rolled her eyes. "You know how he gets."

"Ah, that I do. Right fussy one he is," Fitz laughed as he shrunk Hermione's books down into a small paper bag. She paid for her purchase and as Minerva said her good byes, Hermione took one last hopeful look down the nearest isles.

* * *

The shop door closed behind them and Minerva looped her arm through Hermione's, patting it softly in thought. "You don't blush easily child?" she asked nonchalantly as they made their way down the shop steps and towards the center of town.

"Um…not really," Hermione answered truthfully, worried where her mentor was leading the conversation.

"And yet," the older woman began, "at the mere mention of Fitz's shop hand, you turned redder than a championship quaffle."

Hermione cringed and waited for the lecture and warnings to come. "I'm sorry—"

"Sorry? For what child?" Minerva laughed. Hermione turned to her and was unable to mask her disbelief. "We didn't say you couldn't communicate with anyone while you're here! Go on a flirt with the man. Have a fling or two. Do it now while you can, because once you're my age some will frown upon it."

"I…I really expected you to react differently Minerva," Hermione admitted, a hint of surprise still evident in her voice. "Of course I would never jeopardize my…my situation."

"I know you wouldn't, dear. You have a good head on your shoulders," she smiled her response and pulled her close, with an arm around Hermione's shoulder. "Unlike myself of course," she teased.

"Oh, no!" Hermione protested. "You're wonderful. I've always looked up to you."

"Let's see if you feel the same after tonight's poker game with Filius and Rolanda. Filius is a hard nut to crack. I'd fling my knickers at him to know where he learned how to call a bluff so well."

"Minerva!" Hermione choked out with her laughter. "Has anyone ever told you that you may have a gambling problem?"

They laughed and walked slowly out of town, towards the long path to Hogwarts. From the windows of the bookshop, a pair of dark eyes watched the two until they dissapeared out of sight.


	4. Chapter 4

**With One Foot on the Ground **

**Chapter Four**

Hermione was a nervous wreck.

Sitting stiffer than a nimbus handle, between Minerva's empty chair and Filius, she stared anxiously at the doors to the Great Hall. It was the night of the sorting feast and at any moment the second through seventh years would be arriving.

Every other professor present at the head table talked excitedly with those closest to them, but Hermione dared not open her mouth to join in the conversations.

Having never reached the first day of term in her own time, this was technically her first official night as a professor. Added stress to the occasion was the fact that she would be teaching a subject other than the one she was trained to instruct. Hermione had a great amount of skill and passion for the art of potions, but having had only two weeks to prepare left little room for sanity.

In the end, she'd done her best to recreate the lesson plans from her own potions classes as a student. Professor Snape's methods had been somewhat harsh, but she'd always thought of him with respect and had learned a great deal from him. So, it was an obvious and easy choice to stay as close to his curriculum as possible. Hermione of course had to make some adjustments, leaving out the course work and potions that had yet to be invented for example.

Albus had been quite pleased when she'd brought her lesson plans for his approval. He remarked and complimented her improvements to Horace's lessons. But Hermione was unable to take the credit for work that was not her own…

"_Unfortunately sir, I cannot take that credit. These lessons where derived from my own classes as a potions student."_

"_Indeed?" he looked surprised._

"_Yes," she continued, her voice getting raw. "After Professor Slughorn enters retirement a very good and skilled professor takes over. You'll be quiet proud of him…and how much the students learn from him." _

'…_and how many of them will live full and happy lives due to his and your own sacrifices,' she thought sadly to herself._

_Albus made no comment when her eyes grew wet and gave her a moment before replying. "It pleases me to hear that Hannah. I've been worrying about Horace's replacement for sometime now. You've saved me from a great deal of sleepless nights." He smiled at her kindly with a twinkle in his blue eyes… _

"Hannah," Filius squeaked from beside her, tearing her from her thoughts. "What's your bet?"

"My bet?" she replied, genuinely confused.

"For the incoming first years," Pomona Sprout added from Filius' side. "Which house do you think will get the most new students?"

"Winner gets free drinks until the holidays, on all Hogsmede visits."

"Oh, I don't bet," she replied with a smile.

"Nonsense!" Rolanda spoke up frowning. "You're related to Minerva, of course you bet."

"Well, then…I guess put me down for the same house she chose."

"Ah, ah, ah…" Filius wagged a finger at her with mock disapproval. "You must place your own bet, dearie."

"Gryffindor, then," Hermione replied, reflexively choosing her former house. "No, wait!" she exclaimed before Filius had the chance to write her pick on the parchment in front of him. Voldemort's first rise to power was less than two years away, so there must be a higher percentage of students that followed his...

"Slytherin."

A few eyebrows rose at her, but no one commented. Instead all heads turned towards the sound of the Great Hall doors bursting open.

"I wonder where Albus is," Filius commented as the students began to spill into the Great Hall. Hermione barely heard his comment and paid no attention to the two empty chairs to her left as she gazed out at the sea of students that made their way to the tables. Sitting up straighter, she masked her nerves with a no nonsense expression. When two second year Hufflepuffs quaked under her gaze, she then added a smile for a warmer effect.

Settled into their tables and having greeted their friends and fellow students, the children all began to notice the new professor at the head table. All their eyes seemed to sweep over Hermione with curiosity. Small groups bent heads together, their whispers a deafening buzz in her ears. She willed her cheeks to not redden under their scrutiny and fixed her gaze at the entrance of the Great Hall, wishing Minerva would hurry up and arrive with the first years.

"Don't worry Hannah," Filius whispered, patting her arm. "Once the food arrives you will be quickly forgotten!" She joined in his laughter, though hers a few octaves lower.

Laughter had always been the best medicine and some of the weight on her shoulders and back lifted. Braver now, Hermione let her eyes roam over the students. Offering smiles to the younger students, easing their worries and, she hoped, making them anticipate their first potions class.

When her eyes finally fell on the Gryffindor table, though, her sudden ease quickly vanished.

"Are you alright?" Filius questioned, worried at her shaken expression. "You look as though you've seen a ghost." She mumbled an incoherent reply that almost sounded like 'I'm fine, thank you' and continued to stare out at the students.

Ghosts, indeed.

Several for that matter.

Schooling her features and with a heavy heart, she looked at the small group of friends know as the Marauders; Lupin, Sirius, Harry's parents, and even that rat of a traitor Peter. They all looked so young, so vibrant, and of course…so alive. Laughing and joking with each other, they where unaware of her intense stare and, sadly, of their own dark destinies.

Hermione willed her tears not to spill and forced herself to look away before they could. Luckily, she was offered a much needed distraction as Minerva entered with the first years.

The first year's wide and frightened faces scanned the entire room as they slowly gathered in front of the head table. Huddled together, the bravest of the group inched towards the front and gazed at the staff table with anxious expression. Some gasped at full volume when a stool and the Sorting Hat materialized before them, jumping backwards as Minerva's long scroll rolled out towards their feet.

"When I call your name, please step forward," she ordered and pulled the Sorting Hat into the air. "Marissa Adams!"

Hermione watched as a rather petite girl worked through the crowd and towards Minerva. Certainly the shortest of the group, she stumbled slightly before hoisting herself onto the stool. The hat was lowered and Marissa's raven pixie hair disappeared, leaving only a freckled nose and wide smile visible.

Rolanda, Pomona, and Filius edged forward in their seats, each softly chanting the house name attached to their bet. Noticing Minerva's own eager expression, Hermione smiled at her colleague's behavior.

"Ravenclaw!" the hat shouted and an eruption of applause came from the house as Rolanda and Filius grinned.

One by one, timid first years where called forward and sorted into their houses, not noticing their professors antics and Filius' running tally. So much was going on in fact, that Hermione almost missed Albus' quiet entry through the side staff door.

Holding the door wide, he ushered in Poppy and an older male student. As Albus took his seat, Hermione was unable to take her eyes from the student who, in silence, walked the perimeter of the room towards a table. Tall and lean, he held a handkerchief to his noise with an elegant pale hand. Dark hair straight and limp fell above his shoulders and he kept his head bent to shadow the rest of his features.

'_Something about him…'_

"What happened Albus?" Filius whispered, pushing the tally towards Pomona, gesturing for her to keep score.

"Unfortunately Filius, the carriage ride from the Hogwarts Express was much more eventful than previous year's. Sadly, Mr. Snape was victim to a rather nasty hex. His nose will never properly heal due to the painful curse."

"Oh dear!" Filius gasped. "Did he see his attacker?"

"Afraid not," Albus sighed with remorse. "And no witness would step forward." Their whispered conversation continued, but Hermione heard nothing. In fact, all noise faded and all that remained was the pounding of her heat, beating against her chest.

Severus Snape.

Her wet gaze fell to her empty plate, already knowing which table he was making his way towards. Hermione let her eyes drift shut with a shudder, a bitter chill prickling at her spine.

She couldn't do this.

She couldn't be potions professor to the fallen hero of the war.

She couldn't watch him each day, unable to warn him or stop what he was destined to become.

Deatheater… spy… murderer…… murdered.

Brushing away the wetness on her porcelain skin, Hermione raised her gaze as he approached the very end of the Slytherin table. The housemates that saw him advance frowned and inched closer to the front. Severus ignored them and gracefully took the seat furthest from a warm body. Alone, quiet, and head still bent, Hermione watched beneath his curtain of greasy tresses as he dabbed at his wounded, and now crooked, nose before pocketing the handkerchief. Her gaze hardened as she eyed the dark redness staining the cloth.

How could no student step forward and name his attacker?

Not even a member of his own house!

She was outraged and moved her eyes to the other students of the Great Hall with an accusing glare. Couldn't they see what they where driving him to become? Their actions and cruelness were inhuman and it tore the deepest gash at her chest.

He was truly isolated and alone.

It was miserably understandable how Tom Riddle would one day blind him with acceptance and words of support and appreciation. He would no doubt take the dark mark, believing he would finally be able to belong.

It broke her.

A crumbled peace of parchment was thrown from beyond her perception, bouncing off his shoulder and falling to the ground. Hermione watched him stiffen slightly, but then gave no other reaction as he pulled a dark green book from his robes. Paying no attention to the Sorting ceremony and all persons in the hall, Severus exchanged his curtain of black locks for his opened book and hid in the pages.

Minerva taking her seat jostled Hermione from her viewing and she turned to the older woman, masking her thoughts.

"Well," Minerva whispered. "Who won?" Hermione quickly remembered the bet and forced an eager smile as she turned to Filius.

"Hannah by twenty two," he whispered in reply and pushed the parchment towards the two women.

"Slytherin?" Minerva quirked an eyebrow towards Hermione.

"Uh…just a guess," she replied, nervously playing with the end of her long braid.

Minerva waited until Filius was in conversation with Pomona before murmuring to Hermione, "Before you depart child, do share a few more of your _guesses'_. I'd like to retire young like that bloody cow Horace!" Offering only a wink in return, Hermione turned back to the students, trying to ignore Minerva's enthusiasm.

A loud girlish laughter erupted from Gryffindor and Hermione looked to see Lily and James with their heads close, exchanging smiles.

'_They look so sweet together,'_ she thought warmly, a sad ache causing her to look towards Slytherin. She found Severus, who had raised his head from his book to gaze at the redhead. No longer concealed, she watched his expression as his black eyes glittered with envy.

"Those eyes…"

"_Do you get a lunch break? We could go somewhere for a—" _

"_That is not necessary," he replied, cutting her off. _

"_Perhaps when you get off work then?" Hermione asked eagerly, wondering where her sudden bravado was coming from. _

"_You don't have to miss," he responded softly, unsure of himself or perhaps her attention._

"_But I'd like too," she smiled. "You're the first person I've met that's doesn't have graying hair or a receding hair line, since I arrived." _

"_You've just moved to these parts?" he asked, interest read easily in his black eyes. "I could show you around perhaps?"_

"_I'd like that," Hermione smiled her response, a flutter of some unknown emotion in her belly. "I'd like that very much. My name is Hannah by the way." She extended her hand and watched with excitement as he raised his own towards her._

"_I'm Se—"_

"Oh dear god." Hermione's moan was drowned out as the students applauded Albus as he rose to address them.

Severus Snape was her young man from the book store. The man who'd caused sleeping emotions to flutter to life with just the sound of his voice and the anticipation of a handshake.

She was in trouble.

"Look alive," Minerva hissed under her breath and Hermione focused quickly enough to realize Albus was starting to inform the students about their newest Potions Professor.

"Sadly," Albus was speaking to the children, all eyes on the head table. "Professor Slughorn is delayed on matters of a personal degree." Several professors rolled their eyes. "But fortunately for us, I was able to persuade the University to lend us their brightest mind in the potions field, and niece to fellow esteemed college, to come to our aid. I introduce to you Professor Hannah McGonagall." A loud applause sounded. Hermione smiled out at the student's warm welcome, but was not brave enough to reach her eyes to the end of the Slytherin table. "I am certain that she will make an exceptional addition to the staff and upon Professor Slughorn's return I do hope to convince her become a future staff member."

Minerva gave a quick squeeze to her hand under the table and winked knowingly.

"Slytherin students," Albus addressed the far table. "Be assured, that even though your head of house is away, your newest Potions Professor and myself will be sharing the duties. Please, do not hesitate to see either one of us with any problems or inquiries. Now, let the first feast of the school year commence!"

Co-head of Slytherin house?

Well, Albus forgot to mention **that** in their last meeting.

Food quickly appeared on each of the house tables as well as the staff's, with just a snap of the Headmaster's fingers. Students and professors alike dug in and the noisy buzz of conversation and eating rose to the enchanted ceiling.

But Hermione could not relax.

Her face burned under the scrutiny of an intense gaze from the back of the Great Hall. She could feel Severus' eyes and cowardly starred down at her plate. What a mess she found herself in. Days ago when they had been surrounded by Potions books she had eagerly pursued him, trying her best to flirt and joke. But now …now the man she had asked to lunch and bumped heads with, like a storyline out of a muggle romance film, was now her student.

Not only a student, but her very own future Potions Professor and deatheater turned spy for the Order. What had she gotten herself into…


End file.
